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Getting through grey-scale days
With lists and shadowy eye bags.
Not long now, they keep hissing.
It seems like fucking forever.
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I'm thinking of anemones.
They say dreaming of anemones bodes the unravelling of a major change.
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She's let instinctive redress supercede
Astrological incompatibility.
As Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight waltzed through wood and lime-muddled Bombay Sapphire
She looked at him
And it seemed strangely right.
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You might have to work a little harder
Than me because you have skinny palms.
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